


A Simple Task

by foundCarcosa



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corset-lacing and stolen touches for the knight-commander and her mage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Task

Orsino is privy to knowledge that very few people possess — Meredith Stannard’s penchant for elegant and complex garb.

She sneers at the pompous and inflated Orlesians, but studies their women’s dress with a tailor’s eye. Sometimes she fashions the garments that she desires, and sometimes she brings the fabric and thread to a seamstress and lets her do the dirty work.  
When she donned the armour of Knight-Commander, she lost the time required to court such a hobby.

It is Orsino’s nimble fingers and eagerness to please that rejuvenate it.

“Careful,” she snaps, and Orsino flushes — he’d accidentally pinched her skin between the two ends of the corset as he pulled them together in preparation for securing the garment. Murmuring an apology, he begins the delicate work of lacing — the cord feels as light and slippery as silkworm’s thread in his hands, but it is as strong as the boning in the corset itself. Focusing on the eyelets, he threads in and out, the crisscross pattern revealing itself inch by inch as he works up her back.

When he reaches the top, he inches closer to her, his fingers drifting just over the top of the corset where it gives way to her flesh, his front flush against her back. The flush that suffuses him is shame and thrill, the excitement of a moment stolen and the first stirrings of arousal.

“Focus,” she hisses, and hurriedly he resumes his task, the arduous work of pulling the garment taut, the boning curving in, in, until the shape of her is more than a little pronounced. When the corset is fully laced, her chest upthrust and hips accentuated, Orsino takes the risk — his lips feather over the hollow between her shoulder blades, and when she doesn’t hiss at him or jerk away, he follows the curve of her spine up to the nape of her neck, where wispy flaxen hairs escape their updo and drift over his feverish forehead.  
She stops him when his fingers settle on the curve of her hips.

“I give you the simplest task, and you cannot even complete this without rebelling,” she scolds, turning to face him, her own hands on her hips now. She is unclothed save for the corset, silken smalls, and a pair of heeled boots, a stark contrast to Orsino’s fully-clad form. Beneath the robes, he aches.  
“How can I trust you to polish my boots without slobbering all over yourself?”

He lowers his head, and though the gesture is dignified, he quails at the sharpness in her tone. “I beg your forgiveness.”

“Don’t beg me yet. Get to work.”


End file.
